


Cassette Tapes, Ashtrays And The Kisser

by XtaticPearl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 80's Music, Alternate Universe - Real World, Angst and Humor, Coffee Shops, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, Dorks in Love, Dysfunctional Family, Internalized Homophobia, Libraries, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Slow Build, minor Howard Stark/Peggy Carter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtaticPearl/pseuds/XtaticPearl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy didn't want to leave London before New Year's. When her father insists, she asks him to give her one good reason. Her dad challenges her that he'd give her one for each hour she spent travelling back to New York. That is how, on an airbus miles above the ground, Darcy begins to listen to the story of her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teenagers Are Not What The Doctor Recommended

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UnheardMelody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnheardMelody/gifts).



> I just wanted a full-blown love story - with all the drama, romance, strife, dark realities and a past retelling. That's all the excuse I have for this. Please, partake in my madness <3
> 
> I also wanted this one person to know that I love her reviews. I am weird like that. Good luck with this, Martina! :P

Parenting was a gift from the roadside bum who probably decided that you deserved some loose change more than he did. It was thoughtful, kind even but made you feel conflicted about yourself. Were you as hopeless and desperate for something that you needed change? Or were you just as desperate and hopeless as the bum that you'd like some change? It was all very conflicting and an extremely unhealthy thought chain. Psychologists might very well call social services if they found out that he thought of his daughter as loose change.

He loved her, every omnipotent force knew that, but holy macaroons was she a handful!

"We're leaving now," he tried in his best 'dad' voice, even adding an additional pursed lips effect.

" _We_ are not leaving," Darcy drawled in her esteemed royalty bored tone, swiping through her iPod for another David Guetta number, " _You_ on the other hand, have a flight to catch and another pointlessly forced merrymaking to be a part of. I'm good, thanks. I'd rather stay holed up in a hotel room and watch Pitch Perfect than endure the embarrassing potluck you call a family reunion."

"It's a thing called family, Darce, it's supposed to be embarrassing," he waved a hand dismissively before tugging on her feet, "Come on! This isn't a private jet, thanks to your incredibly insane Aunt Pepper with the enthusiasm of a commoner. This one leaves on time! I know, it sucks and life isn't fair and Darth Vader was an incredibly stupid name for the biggest cinematic twist in history but seriously, get off the damn bed! It's New Year's Eve today and we have to get home!"

"I want to have fun here," the 15 year old argued, her chocolate eyes glaring at her scowling father, "It's the first time we're away from home on New Year's Eve. Let's have fun  _here_!"

"Honey," he tried the saccharine but logical approach, it was a clincher in his boardrooms, "you're amazing and I am proud that you don't fall into the classification of normal, honestly I'd even get you a medal for that. Both of us aren't and that's probably the only parenting clue that people find to identify our relation. Now, as your origin and lie-detector since your first eye-twitch, I call bullshit. You're gonna hate it here as much as there. The ball drop, onesie party, mac and cheese, worst 40 songs of the year and endless sweaty people kissing each other before throwing up. It'd be as boring as it is here. So, why don't we leave now, catch the flight and spare ourselves the British version of forced merrymaking? Isn't the American version enough? I mean sure, maybe here people clink tea cups instead of champagne and swear elegantly when wasted, who does that actually? Wasn't your ex British? He had the most polite curses ever, I think even your -"

"He was Scottish and I'm still not going," Darcy stated with a calm sniff of the air before she pulled out Titanium and watched as her dad stood tapping his feet impatiently.

"I'll get you shoes," he bribed, looking at his watch and noting the seconds running faster than he would allow.

"I'm not Aunt Pepper"

"I'll get you on the gymnastics team  _and_ an interview with whichever new prey you're hunting for your paper."

"I can't touch my toes at most and I can hunt by myself better."

"Concert tickets"

"Crowds, dad, crowds. Bad idea for music."

"Fake ID"

"That's going into the Jar and I created fake IDs for Ted, last week. I'm good thanks."

"New laptop."

"Really? You're trying to bribe me with technology when I can just-"

"-upgrade your old one better than anything new, I know." He was proud of that but it was a strike against his bribing list.

"A pony?"

Darcy just stared at him blankly till he nodded sheepishly.

"Alright, out with it," he sighed finally, "What's it gonna take for you to get off and leave within the next two minutes?"

"Nothing," Darcy said simply, shrugging as she rolled her iPod over her fingers, "You've got no reason that'll convince me to leave."

Oh, those should NOT have been her words. Challenges always made him stubborn and competitive, which was never a good idea if you wanted peace or just, you know, a normal life.

"What if I do?" he asked with a smirk growing on his face and a challenging air to his eyes, "What if I can give you not just one, but one reason for every hour you travel with me? How's that for a deal? I prove you wrong by convincing you and you don't run off for another hour. What do you think?"

Darcy was her father's daughter, despite her level of maturity a shade more visible than his. Her challenging streak though was a carbon copy. It was the only thing that convinced her of her parentage when she saw him do the weirdest things at strangest times.

"If you don't convince me, I get to leave wherever we are and come back here," Darcy tried with a raised eyebrow, "You don't get to stop me or question.  _And_ you never force me to celebrate New Year's again. Ever."

He considered it for the whole of 30 seconds before nodding.

"Deal," he declared with a hand outstretched.

"Deal," Darcy replied, taking her father's hand and shaking it with a smug smirk. She knew her father inside out. His brain was faster than the teachers of her school and his tongue spouted things that the most open-minded souls would find offensive. He was a madman at best and a coffee-starved whiny cat at worst. He also had the best run-off-the-mill stories which Darcy had learnt not to believe over the years. She loved him, she really did, but she knew when she had him beat. This challenge was going to become his worst nightmare and she would get the best fodder for all future jibbing. 

Also, Aunt Pepper would chew him out more than '10 Christmas. Which, hey, good candid photos.

"You're gonna lose, dad," she warned him cheerfully as they rushed down the elevator and into the car waiting for them.

"You're gonna wish you didn't ask for it, kiddo," he shot back with equal cheer before his eyes turned wistful for a second against the frosted window's light, "Or maybe it'll turn out to be the best flight of your life. I don't know. How're you with romantic stories?"

"What?" Darcy asked blankly with a quizzical expression as her dad cackled through the mad rush to the airport. Maybe parenting wasn't all that bad when you got to scar your kid with the most embarrassing, romantic, painful and tragic story you'd ever know. The story of you and your 'one'.

Tony Stark was not the best storyteller of anytime, but when the story was as real and unforgettable as his own, he might just finally do it right.

\-----------------

They reached the terminal with barely seconds to spare. Darcy kept glaring at every new face, like only teenagers with Tony Stark's genes could master, and Tony kept losing her in the crowds. When they finally boarded the plane, she turned to him and raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"We're on our first hour already," she reminded him primly, pushing her glasses up her nose, "Get on with it. What's the first reason?"

"Actually, it's a story," he replied with a small smile at the impatience shining in his daughter's eyes, "And if you promise not to question me about it or the characters till the very end, you'll get your reasons."

"Additional conditions not allowed," she retorted with a huff but rolled her eyes at his nonchalant shrug, "But fine. I'll just find it easier to win with some fairytale spin of the yarn."

"Oh, it's not a fairytale," Tony chuckled, "it's real. It's the realest thing you'll ever hear."

Darcy frowned and tried to weigh the pros and cons of listening but in the end, gestured her dad to continue.

"Alrighty then," Tony said with a grin before he settled back more comfortably and cocked his head slightly, "This story begins on December 31, 1989 at your grandfather's old mansion. It was the worst night of my life."

"Why, did you meet your biggest enemy or lose an embarrassing bet?" Darcy asked sarcastically.

"Nope," Tony popped the 'p' before smiling softly and closing his eyes, "That was the night I met the biggest mistake of my life."

"That was the night I met Steven Grant Rogers"


	2. Iridescent Panes Of A Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly hope that I don't go overboard or pull back punches in this story. It's my first AU and I'm hoping that I can do justice to our favourite characters. Please do comment any feedback you have <3

**December '89, Stark Mansion (New York):**

If there was a high school for alcohol, champagne and beer would be on the ultimate opposite cliques. Champagne would probably be the blonde in a sundress, longed for by the good boys and fought for by the bad ones. She would be the apple of teachers' eyes, polite, poised and perfect for the homecoming queen. Beer would probably be the redneck jock, unpleasant but always noticed, the detector of the wimps and leader of the boisterous. He would be the bane of all-nighters, unsettling, untamed and unanimous for the quarterback Letterman. 

Tony didn't fit into either cliques. Which is how he found spirituality in a whisky crystal, two years back, crouching under his father's desk. Whisky tasted like science. 

 

Which was why he was terribly sad when he threw it all up in the neatly trimmed bushes of a darker side in the garden. He didn't care for the bushes, he was never an admirer of perfect leaf statues or shapes anyway. Those were his mother's obsession. Tony felt bad for the wasted whisky.

The barf aftertaste didn't help either.

"Easy, easy," a calm and firm voice came from behind him, followed by a hand offering a bottle of water, "Don't chug it all. Rinse first. That's it, easy."

Tony felt uneasy at a sudden intrusion at first but the promise of water won over the unease. He accepted the bottle and splashed some water on his face before rinsing his mouth. The hand had now begun patting and gently comforting his back and Tony wondered if this stranger knew the concept of personal space.

"I'm fine," he snapped weakly, pushing away the hand and attempting to stand up from his hunched position. only to feel his head spin and the stranger hold his arm, "Get off me!"

"Alright, alright, don't have a cow," the stranger placated in an amused tone, hand off Tony's arm but the presence still close, waiting till Tony was stable on his feet, "You wanna sit this one out? C'mon, there's a bench right there."

"I said I'm fine," Tony repeated, eyes still closed, trying to get his breathing under control.

"Maybe, but this bush kinda stinks right now and it'll make us both throw up if we stay any longer," the Voice shot back and Tony risked opening an eye to look sideways. He got all the way to notice black dress pants and a white shirt but then his head spun again and he shut his eyes with a groan.

"Help the blind man," Tony croaked out pathetically and heard a snort in return before he felt a hand grasp his own and tug lightly towards presumably the direction of the promised bench. His feet faltered halfway through and he yanked the other guy's hand, almost pulling him down too before the stranger righted him and continued leading.

When they finally sat on the bench, all Tony wanted to do was lie down and die. But apparently, Mr. Stranger was a mind-reader and held him upright before sliding onto the bench, sitting beside him. Tony's stomach was slowly settling and his head seemed better by the minute, but he didn't want to risk it by opening his eyes yet. His mouth on the other hand, that always opened when he was in an awkward situation.

"So, are you one of the bitches or the boy scouts?" he asked casually, fumbling into his blazer pocket to get out his Raybans and put them on. He had to go back into the party soon and he knew that his eyes would be washed out and red by then. Things his dad would later pay him back in either speech or force, but firmly and unfailingly. 

"Are those the only choices?" Mr. Voice shot back, shifting slightly in a manner that implied that he was now looking at Tony.

"You're in Howard's party. You're definitely not a long-lost bastard son or relative. So yes, you should be either a bitch or a boy scout," Tony answered matter-of-factly, having formed the opinion a long time ago, during his third party itself.

There was a calculating silence following that and Tony would have believed the stranger to have gone if the warmth of his body hadn't been next to him.

"I'm the barback," Mr. Voice replied after a pause, voice carefully measured but casual enough to sound honest. Tony was surprised by the answer and finally found it in him to open his eyes and look at the man.

It wasn't a bad sight for sore eyes, after all. The guy had a medium to dark shade of blond mop on his head, a considerably wide forehead, just right in proportion to the size of his skull. His eyebrows weren't ones you would draw on a slacker's face and his nose looked like a slender bell to Tony's confused eyes. He wasn't heavily built, shoulders and waist an ode to the tragic life of a normal human. He wore the official white shirt and black pants, just the top button of the shirt opened, probably to let some air. What captured Tony's attention though were the eyes. The mouth was a pretty touch too but the eyes definitely stole the spotlight.

It wasn't the clear blue with the dark flecks that held special mention. Tony had seen many exotic eyes, some enhanced by cleverly placed make-up, countless number of times. He wasn't blown away by a pair of yet another blue eyes. It was the unending depth of them that caught his gaze. It spoke of quiet reserve, strength, pride and poise. At the same time, it didn't scream cockiness or callousness, things he would find in every other fellow he met at his dad's parties. These eyes were the realer stuff. They were the ones you saw in a concerned stare or a confident gaze.

It was unnerving yet magnetic and Tony felt his skin prickle at the unnatural words he was using for a pair of eyes.

"Definitely not a bitch," he declared after a showy overlook, making blondie raise his eyebrow, "Could pass for a boytoy though. You should try it out. Easy money, especially with the hags out here. It's New Year's, the demand is more this season."

"I think there's a compliment somewhere there, so thanks," Blondie replied in confusion before crinkling his nose in disgust as he looked at a distance, definitely imagining himself as a boytoy, "I think I'd stick to being the barback this time though."

"Your loss," Tony shrugged, before opening the bottle in his hand and taking a sip of water, "I'm Tony by the way. Just in case you want to put a name to the puke on your shoes."

"They're not mine. Thankfully." Blondie replied, though he did cast a wistful glance at his shoes which had a bit of puke on their side, "I know your name. Gotta know the name of the people you work for. I'm Steve, Steve Rogers."

"You work for us?" Tony asked with a frown, not recollecting the face from before.

"Just for this party. I'm here with Dugan. He mixes the drinks, I do the back work," Steve shrugged, making Tony nod thoughtfully, "It's good pay."

"That it is." Tony agreed with a soft scoff, knowing how his father liked to throw away cash. He remained silent for a minute, silently noting that he was feeling better a bit. He did have a doubt though and proceeded to clarify it.

"How'd you find me? Here, I mean," he asked with a cock of his head, "Aren't you supposed to be busy inside? The party is still on and people don't usually come out to the garden, unless they want to have some 'private time'." The emphasis on 'private time' was lewd enough from experience of finding out for himself scores of times before.

"Came out for a breather," Steve answered as he tried to rub his shoes on the grass to get any stains off them, "There was a lull for a while and the party got a little too...a little too .."

"Irritating? Boring? Fake? Loud?" Tony asked with a smirk at the involuntary scoff from the other man even as he nodded shortly, "Yeah, it's not always the best way to start a year. You should always stock up on medication, booze or chocolate to survive through these."

"Boy, that sounds like fun for a party," Steve commented lightly but grinned slightly, "I should go back inside though now. Dug'll lose his brows if I get late. You're okay now, right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Tony nodded easily, sizing up Steve as he nodded in reply and stood up, "You don't sound from here. Where're you from? The accent, it sounds like Brooklyn."

"Good ear," Steve grinned as he patted down his pants, "I stay with Dug here in Manhattan though. Just till summer. Then back home."

"Temp job?" Tony asked, wondering why he was continuing the conversation even as Steve was clearly trying to get back to the party.

"Yes and no," the blond guy relied with a vague shrug, "Art stuff."

Tony nodded in acceptance though he didn't clearly understand what Steve meant. Before he could ask anything else though, Steve looked at the mansion and back at Tony with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, gotta go now," he said with a small gesture towards the mansion, "Drink up some more water. It'll help settle things down. See ya!"

As Tony watched Steve throw him a two finger salute and jog back to the mansion, he mused about the lives of people who weren't him. Some times, it made him wonder if he was privileged. Other times, he wondered if they were privileged. It was a war between the silver spoon and the iron chains. A struggle between luxury of abundance and poverty of independence.

He sighed to himself and chugged some more water, wondering about Steve and the freedom in his eyes.

\----------------------------

"I'll buy you"

Steve jerked slightly and turned sharply to see Tony lean against the counter, looking at him with a cool and collected gaze. His eyes didn't look red anymore and the lights of the party fell well on his beige blazer, making him look more normal than sick.

"If you're going to follow that with the words 'a drink' I think you're barking up the wrong tree," Steve replied with a raised eyebrow, gesturing to the bottles around him, "I'm the one behind the bar. And hello to you too."

Tony waved his hand dismissively and leaned in closer, arms resting against the counter top.

"Not a drink. You. I'll buy you off Dugan," Tony clarified with a patient look, "For the evening. Whatever he's paying you, I'll give him the double. Get you out from the bar."

Steve blinked at that and frowned, looking back to see if Dugan was listening before glaring at Tony.

"You can't just 'buy' people," Steve reproached firmly, continuing to arrange the glasses on the shelf, "And I'm here on work. This is my job. I've gotta finish it."

"Don't fluff up your feathers, I'm not talking about buying you to be a boytoy," Tony retorted with a lazy huff, innocently shrugging at the glare he got from Steve, "What? I'm just saying that I'll pay Dugan your wages, but you'll just be doing another job. Nothing explicit, trust me, I don't think you're up for that and honestly, I'm not interested in that right now."

"Then what?" Steve shot back in a whisper as he noticed an older gentleman pass by, giving both of them a suspicious stare, "What are you talking about?"

"Entertain me," Tony said simply, "I'm gonna bolt from this place and I don't wanna spend New Year's alone like a loser. Bolt with me. You don't like the party anyway, and neither do I. Come on, it'll be fun."

"I'm working, Tony," Steve repeated patiently, looking more amused than irritated now.

"And you'll be working with me too, Steve," Tony shot back with a mocking face, "Don't tell me you're actually enjoying being a barback here. Seriously, that'd be the most depressing shit I'd hear from a guy on New Year's and if you say so, I'd have to get you to a psychiatrist. Come on! No tricky business, I promise. Let's just ditch the party and find something better to do. I swear, nobody'll notice. I'll pay Dugan and nothing'll go wrong."

"Of course, things'll go wrong," Steve contradicted with a scoff before keeping his glass down and considering Tony with a calculative look, "But it  _is_ your party. Your father's party, but technically a Stark party. And it is boring. But Dug..."

"Will be fine with it. Here let's ask him," Tony said before catching Dugan's attention as the burly bartender came into view, "Hey, Dugan! You think I could steal Steve here from the party? You seem to have things under control, right? I'll pay you his wages and everything."

Dugan stared between the two 20 year-olds before scowling at Tony.

"The kid's here for work," he grunted, "He's gotta earn his keep."

"And he will, monsieur," Tony asserted, ignoring Steve's narrowed eyes, "He'll just be working for me. Nothing illegal, unpleasant or depraved, I promise. Christ, have some faith Duggy, what's with the the eyebrows? Just harmless fun, like normal guys our age do on New Year's. I'd get you legal papers too, but seeing that we've got only a couple of hours till today ends, I'm hoping you use your good conscience and let us go. Come on, mister. Free young Steve here from the shackles of the nightmare that is this party! Show some mercy, o good soul of barhood! Let this fledgling fly into the openness of the free sky and experience the taste of pure -"

"Alright, alright, stop kissing my ass," Dugan groused, looking at Steve who looked like a cross between mortified and amused, "Rogers, you know self-defense, right?"

Tony protested with a mock 'hey!' but Steve looked too embarrassed by the thought and quickly nodded.

"You wanna go, boy?" Dugan asked Steve bluntly, ignoring Tony's miming. Steve had come to Manhattan for a short period, on his art course. This party had just been a help for Dugan, something to keep Steve occupied and earn some bucks on the side too. He was a smart kid, honest and hardworking. His mother, Sarah, was a kind woman who had saved Dugan a lot many times, when he had been in the army and she had been a nurse. Steve was practically family for him. Tony Stark on the other hand, he was a kid Dugan didn't know or trust. Or maybe he didn't trust him because he didn't know him. He knew Howard, the missiles man for the Army, from the war. They had been cordial and formal in the brief conversations they had had. But Dugan knew that Howard wasn't the same man as a father. He had seen the cold interactions enough during earlier parties and functions he had managed the bar for. There was nothing warm or casual about the father and son. Dugan had also heard about Tony's reputation but knew well to not trust all gossip. He had seen a smartness and sharpness in the kid himself in the small moments he had tried to serve the kid anything non-alcoholic ever since the kid turned fifteen. It was some sort of a goddamned tragedy but Dugan had grown up through enough tragedies to know that Tony had the potential to survive it and become a better person, if he found a reason to do so.

"I-I don't mind working, Dug," Steve answered firmly, sparing just a small glance at Tony who was frowning at that, "It's fine."

Dugan had heard a lot of 'it's fine's to know what they really meant.

He considered Steve cautiously for a minute before sighing and turning to Tony.

"I hear one word about something with the law and I'm dealing with you myself," Dugan warned Tony, knowing his reputation well enough, "Your father asks me about you and I say I don't know. I'm not covering up, not vouching or helping you out when he finds out. You do anything sneaky, you don't ever tell me. You pay up front and don't make him do anything he won't. If you do, it's the cops. You make sure he gets back in one piece. And you  _don't_ drink and drive. Got it?"

Tony blinked for a second but quickly nodded with a sly grin.

Steve watched as Dugan cursed under his breath and Tony swiftly removed some notes from his pockets, depositing them on the counter. He felt dirty at that and was about to protest when Tony caught his eye and rolled his own eyes.

"Chill, Rogers," he said with a smirk, "You're not a kept woman for this. Consider this payment for the shoes, which you have to return to some poor bastard. And anyway, you're technically still working."

Before Steve had any chance to retort, he found Dugan shooing him off and warning Tony with one last glare before turning his attention back to his drinks. Steve came out from the bar side and wondered about the madness of the moment before Tony grasped his hand and pulled him along.

"I don't even know you," Steve whispered fiercely, noting how some people were staring at them, "I don't even know you properly and you're paying somebody to kidnap me for an evening. You're actually pimping me out from my employer!"

"I'll get you my bio-data," Tony shot back carelessly, leading Steve out through the ball room, ignoring any staring glances, "And honestly, you said you had come here to work, which obviously meant that if I asked you to sneak out with me, you'd lose your pay. I just made sure that you don't lose your money just because you're dying of boredom. I'm literally saving your life here, Steve. And kidnapping? Really? Do you see any blindfolds here? Such a dramatic guy!"

"You're crazy!" Steve declared with a huff and Tony simply chuckled at that.

"Finally a true deduction!" he replied with a grin and Steve shook his head.

They were almost out the door when a tall figure cut their path.

"Anthony!" Alexander Pierce greeted with a tight smile, eyes flickering towards Steve before sticking back to Tony, "How are you and your young friend this evening?"

“Unpleasant. He’s more lurid but I’m touching ominous,” the dark haired man answered, not bothering to look up and see the latest smoocher of the evening..

“We’re fine, sir, thank you,” his new blond friend rectified without batting an eye, bobbing his head in courtesy to the towering guest who was frowning down at the rude young Stark, moving around Pierce to pull Steve out of the room.

"That was rude," Steve scowled as they finally came out of the mansion, pulling his hand out of Tony's grasp and glaring at him, "He's a respectable man and a guest at your party. Honestly, Tony, what is the big hurry to-"

"Steve, you remember how I told you about the bitches and boy scouts?" Tony cut him short with an exasperated sigh, "Pierce is a bitch. Trust me, I know. You don't. And this is not my party. It's my dad's. He'll handle it. Now, we can either stand here and argue the virtues of being polite to undeserving assholes or breathe some fresh air and greet the New Year's the way it is supposed to be greeted. You in or you out?"

"But why?" Steve asked patiently, looking around, "We don't even know each other and this is absolute maWell, dness. Why do you want to get out with me?"

Tony stared at him for a few seconds before running a hand through his hair and breathing out.

"I don't know," he said finally, looking irritated, "Maybe it's because you're the first person in this place who didn't try to schmooze me up for being a Stark. Maybe it's because I find it annoying that you answered my temp job question with a vague 'yes and no'. Maybe it's because I hate this party and you don't like it too. Maybe it's because you're not a bitch or a boy scout. I don't know. I just want to get out and see the New Year without all these people suffocating me. And I thought maybe you'd like that too. You in or you out?"

Steve looked at Tony quietly for a complete moment, trying to digest the explanation. He didn't have anything to lose, really. He didn't like loud parties, didn't have anywhere to be and found this annoying and rude young guy vaguely interesting. It was something like those adventurous jumps out of a plane things. He was flying blind here.

But Tony was looking at him expectantly and Dugan didn't seem to need him. 

"I'm in," Steve said quietly with a small smile and saw Tony grin impishly before pulling a finger gun at Steve and pulling him along down the garden, towards the garage.

When Steve saw the Chevrolet, he felt his eyes widen. He appreciated beauty in any form and the car was beauty personified, glistening in it's dark golden hue. 

"Quit staring, you creep," Tony snorted and jumped in, "Get in!"

Steve rolled his eyes at the dark haired man but got in nonetheless, admiring the interior of the car as well.

"This is nice, Tony," he observed quietly as Tony revved up the engine and pulled out from the garage.

"Yeah, well it's the price of therapy for being a Stark," Tony mused and let out a yell as they crossed the Stark Mansion gates, out into the roads of nowhere.

\------------------

Steve took a minute to grasp where he was before he burst out laughing and turned to see an impish grin on Tony's face.

"What're we doing here?" he asked as they stood outside the cemetery, "A cemetery? Really? That's your idea?"

"Hey, it's the only place we can't find people," Tony shrugged with a wider grin, "Well, alive people. It's perfect. Imagine, a New Year with the people who can't celebrate or be nosy anymore."

"You have some really weird sense of humor," Steve shook his head before staring ahead at the cemetery, "What do you wanna do here? I am NOT going to dance over somebody's grave."

"Clever," Tony nodded, "And who said you've got to dance? If I had to do that, I'd have stayed in the party. We don't have to dance at all."

"Then what do you wanna do?" Steve asked with a cocked head.

Tony jumped on the hood of his car and sat down.

"How about you start by telling me what exactly a 'yes and no' temp job means?" he asked with a sly grin and Steve groaned about 'persistent idiots'.

They did exactly that the entire night - nothing. Two youngsters, in front of a cemetery, on a firework lit New Year's night, sat talking about Steve's art and Tony's engineering. They were still strangers in a strange situation. Neither knew the other's life or story. But they were comfortable away from the world that they both despised.

And they were comfortable enough to discuss the idea of tolerating each other till the year's last second.

\------------

"Oh. My. God" Darcy exclaimed softly, staring at her father in horror, "You took a stranger to a cemetery for a New Year's date? What is wrong with you?"

"Everything," Tony replied nonchalantly before grinning, "But hey, sometimes, the most abnormal things become the most memorable beginnings in life."

"No," Darcy drawled disbelievingly, "No, it can't be. The poor sucker didn't, right? Tell me he didn't meet you again after that certifiably horrifying night."

Tony simply shrugged and grinned.

"Oh, he did more than just meet me again. The next time we met, he was on one knee."

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and comments will ALWAYS be loved and stored in my treasure chest <3 <3


End file.
